


If Love's a Fight, Then I Shall Die (With My Heart on a Trigger)

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: Steal My Heart (It's Already Yours) [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Announcing marriage/marriage proposal, Discussion of wedding arrangements, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Iris is the best sister ever, Len is a not-so-secret softie, Len lays down the law, Light Banter/Snark, M/M, Recovery after an argument, Secret Relationship, Song-inspired, not joe west friendly, relationship exposed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: “Dad just left.” Iris' voice sounds strained and her sinuses a little clogged; it takes another thirty seconds before she adds, “You need to get over here.”-------------------------------------------------------When the reveal of their relationship has Barry reeling in the aftermath, it's Len to the rescue.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Iris West, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Iris West & Lisa Snart (background), Leonard Snart & Iris West
Series: Steal My Heart (It's Already Yours) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758994
Comments: 11
Kudos: 264





	If Love's a Fight, Then I Shall Die (With My Heart on a Trigger)

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my favorites to write so far. Len comforting Barry in any situation is always a joy, but Len laying down the law in defense of his Scarlet Speedster? That's just a God-given gift. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Title comes from "Angel With A Shotgun" by The Cab.

Len is hip-deep in blueprints when his phone goes off. A quick glance at the caller ID has him answering on the second ring, “Iris?”

“ _Dad just left._ ” Her voice sounds strained and her sinuses a little clogged; it takes another thirty seconds before she adds, “ _You need to get over here._ ”

“…How bad was it?”

Another pause, then a tiny sniffle, and now her voice sounds like she’s choking on a tight ball of emotion, “ _Really bad._ ”

Len shoves the blueprints away with a careless motion and grabs his jacket off the chair, “I’m on my way.”

***

He parks his bike around the back of the West residence, tucked close to the fence where it won’t be within immediate line of sight for any kids looking to commit misdemeanor joyriding, then jumps the small section of chain link, a slim pocket nestled between the polished wood paneling, with practiced ease. He gets to the back-porch door and raps sharply. Iris answers the summons within half a minute; she’s wearing sweats and her face is streaked with tears.

“He’s upstairs.” She steps back to let Len inside, then carefully closes the door behind him, “I told him you were coming…he said I shouldn’t have called you.”

“You should have,” Len shucks off his jacket and drapes it neatly over the back of the couch, “and I’m glad you did.”

The sentiment, while genuine, is a touch closer to the softer side of things: a place Len doesn’t tread very often but can dip his toes into when the necessity warrants it. Usually, it’s reserved for Lisa, but Iris is a decent sort. Passionate for the pursuit, determined to always get her story, and when it comes to his relationship with Barry has been a grade above the rest. She and Lisa bumped into each other at the department store a couple weeks ago and got along like a house on fire. Barry has been paranoid about the set of sisters plotting some sort of mischief ever since.

The kid probably isn’t wrong, but he doesn’t need to be so suspicious every time the girls go out for lunch.

Iris manages a watery smile and wipes her eyes with the back of a sleeve, “I’m gonna order something for dinner…I know he hasn’t eaten since lunch. Any preferences?”

“ _Ted and Tony’s Steakhouse_.” Len answers, “Barry loves their rolls – and the sirloin.”

“You got it.” Her mood seemingly lifted, at least a bit, Iris heads into the kitchen to make the call and Len heads upstairs.

He finds Barry in his old room, the one with a bed that doesn’t really fit his lanky form anymore and walls plastered in nostalgia. The kid is curled up in a tight ball, a pillow cradled to his chest, and staring blankly at the opposing wall.

“She shouldn’t have called you.” His voice sounds wrecked.

“So you could go on pretending this little come-to-Jesus never happened?” Len replies, bored with the rehashed concept and mildly irritated that Barry’s still pulling this crap, “Act like everything is a-okay until one little thing sets off an eruption and you’re yelling at me for crimes I didn’t even commit?”

Barry visibly flinches and drops his face into the pillow. Len calmly sinks onto the mattress, reaches out with both hands and manhandles Barry out of his little cocoon – despite multiple protests which could easily be addressed by flashing off the bed if, in fact, Barry was genuinely invested in escaping – to rest his head atop Len’s thighs. Fingers start carding through soft brown hair and Barry pushes out a long breath.

“What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It mattered to you.” Len’s thumb rubs at the temple, a long-established source of stress relief for the speedster, “So it matters to me. What did he say?”

Barry sniffles, in such a way that his sinuses still sound a little clogged but little symptoms like that never seem to stick for long – because that’s his Scarlet: poster boy for perfect immune system, not even one to suffer from allergies in the spring, smooth and graceful in action as the Flash, and in the next minute will trip over his own shoelaces to execute a spectacular face-plant in the middle of a crowded hallway.

Nonetheless. It’s not like Len fell stupid in love with this idiot because he was poetry in movement.

Barry’s fingers reach up and entwine with the fingers Len has at his hairline; the angle is awkward, but Barry doesn’t seem bothered. “It wasn’t anything I didn’t expect, I guess.” He mumbles tiredly, wiping at his eyes with the free hand, “Just that…he kept asking what leverage you had over me. What you did, said, whatever, that would make me think I wanted anything to do with you.”

A fresh wave of tears fills his eyes and spills down both cheeks, “He made this, _us_ , sound dirty. Disgusting, almost. Like I’m a stupid little boy who let myself get caught up by the villain.” Barry urgently wipes at his eyes again with a frustrated little sound that shouldn’t sound as adorable as it does, “And when _I_ told him I instigated this, that I chased after you because _I_ wanted you, wanted this relationship…”

A long and heavy pause follows, then Barry wilts with his face turned into Len’s stomach, “I’ve never seen him so angry. So disappointed. So…disgusted.”

That’s the second time he’s used that word. “Did he hit you?” Len keeps his tone neutral, not for a moment betraying the hot coil of anger twisting up in his gut.

“No.” Barry’s arm swings around Len’s hips to anchor himself in place, “He just shut down. Cold-shoulder treatment. I’ve gotten it before, but this time…”

Len’s fingers slide back in his hair and Barry breathes out a shuddering sigh, “…It felt like he was saying, without a single word, that he was waiting for me to get my head back on straight, and then we would talk.”

“Hmm.” Len hums thoughtfully, “Seems to me your head is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

He feels Barry’s smile even through the shirt. “You actually mean that?”

“Just because you’re a case study in perpetual tardiness and unfailing lack of coordination doesn’t mean your head isn’t screwed on straight.”

“Jerk…” Barry mumbles, in the same breath as he flops over on his stomach, face half-buried in dark-wash denim, and curls both arms around Len’s hips, “Why can’t you ever just let us have a moment?”

“We’re not having a moment surrounded by your childhood nerd posters and spaceship bedcovers.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The sassy tone is back and Len couldn’t be more pleased to hear it, “Should I invest in snowflake patterns? Maybe get them embroidered with ‘Property of Captain Cold’?”

“The sheets are a strong possibility.” Len smirks, still petting his hair, “And the whole ‘Property of Captain Cold’ thing should be tattooed across your chest, not your bedding.”

Again, he feels Barry’s smile. This time, it’s softer…almost shy. “Right over my heart?”

“Yeah.” Len guides Barry’s head back, just enough that he can see that tender little grin and hazel eyes looking up at him, “Right over your gold-plated heart.”

Ten minutes later, Iris calls from the bottom stair that dinner has arrived. They eat out on the patio, shoot the breeze over a couple beers, and Barry’s tears are almost forgotten in favor of keeping his hand closely entwined with Len’s for the rest of the night.

Almost.

***

In a display that, later, will have Mick chuckling about ‘balls of brass’, Len walks straight through the CCPD front doors at exactly half past nine the following morning. He knows from prior experience (meaning, from offhand comments that Barry has made at random moments) this will be the time of morning wherein the bull pen will be packed with day shift officers, the captain, and most importantly Detective Joe West.

Outside his signature parka, in the black leather ensemble that has proven to turn Barry’s head on multiple occasions, it takes a minute for Len to catch anyone’s attention. Might have taken longer, actually, if he didn’t make a point to announce himself first.

“Morning, Joe,” he says, not even bothering to keep his voice down; the older man chokes on his morning coffee, “got a minute?”

He’ll give a little credit for West’s quick recovery time: in less than thirty seconds, the coffee is safely secured on his desk and dark eyes are fixed on Len with a furious glare. “Always appreciate you making our job easier, Snart.” West bites out, one hand back on his holster like he thinks there’s a reason to start shooting.

“You want to try and arrest me, you go right ahead. And then you can let me walk out of here in a couple hours because you’ve got nothing to pin on me.” Len takes a calm step forward, “The only crime I’ve committed is in your eyes and it’s _not_ a punishable offense.”

West’s jaw clenches so hard there’s a strong possibility the bones might crack. “Now, I know you and the rest of the fine folk have a job to do, so I’ll make this quick,” by now, Len is less than two feet away from his target, close enough that he can see visible tremors of rage running through the older man, “If you ever talk to Barry like that again, it will be the last time you have a jaw. I’ve put people in the ground for talking to my sister like that…I promise you, I’ll do worse for him.”

The sneer reminds Len in _all_ the wrong ways of Lewis, “You really think you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

West is doing a fine job of keeping his voice level, but the entire bull pen has dropped into dead silence, so it carries as if he were shouting the words. Even the captain has stepped out of his office to investigate why Central City’s most wanted is standing in the bull pen. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Snart: you may have him fooled now, but one of these days Barry is going to wake up and see you for exactly who and _what_ you are.”

Len knows when he’s being baited, and a year or so ago, this may have been a very effective bait. But this is Len’s game, and he is very— _very_ good at it.

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Joe,” he goes out of his way to emphasize a complete lack of remorse or guilt, “but you will be waiting for that day for a _very_ long time. Because Barry _does_ see me for exactly who and what I am, and I assure you…he takes great pleasure in every single facet of my person. On a regular basis. And will continue to do so for the rest of his life.”

The vein in West’s neck bulges and throbs under the skin, and his fingers twitch on the holster. “It won’t last.” He bites out with no small helping of bitterness and (as Barry so aptly identified) disgust, “He knows he can’t keep his job here – the job he spent his whole childhood dreaming of – if he’s involved with a _criminal_.”

Hardly the worst thing Len has been called in his life, which is why it’s mildly amusing that West throws it out like some vindictive insult meant to deliver a crippling blow. He should take lessons from Mick – Mister ‘Made A Veteran Cop Cry’.

“You’re right – I can’t.” Barry’s voice crops up behind Len half a second before the kid’s hand publicly slides into Len’s, “Which is why you’ll find an email in your inbox, Captain – my resignation, effective today.”

Len kind of wishes he had a polaroid of the looks they’re getting – mostly of West’s broiling indignation, but also of the patrol officers with their jaws hanging to the ground and the captain staring at Barry like the kid just grew three extra heads. The photos would look lovely on the refrigerator.

“And as for me ‘waking up’ and coming to my senses,” Barry next turns his tone – a low, confident, and inarguable tone so unlike his carefree and light-hearted manner that Len has to remember all the reasons he _shouldn’t_ plunder Barry’s mouth right here and now in front of God and everyone – on Detective West with a spark in his eyes that, again, is unfairly attractive and the whole image is plucking on the strings of Len’s self-restraint, “you can wait for that day as long as you want, Joe, but it’s never going to happen. Len and I are partners, we’re in love…and in two days, I’ll be his husband.”

Okay, scratch the previous thought – _this_ is the look he wants a snapshot of: the good detective nearly falls flat to the floor, staring at Barry in complete shock. “Barr…”

“And before you start shooting off about this being another manipulation or result of some kind of leverage he has over me,” Barry continues like his adopted father never said a word, “I was _trying_ to tell you this yesterday. But seeing as you got hung-up on the fact that we’ve been together for almost a year and didn’t let me finish, you can just take this announcement however you want. It won’t break me – and it won’t change my mind.”

“Barry, I am trying—”

“No.” Barry bites out, a stark contrast to the way he gently tugs on Len’s hand, then leans his cheek against Len’s shoulder to add, “Let’s go home, baby.”

“Let’s.” Len murmurs, taking an extra minute to hold West’s disbelieving stare, then delivers a mock salute to the crowded room, “ _Adios_ , folks.”

***

“No, no, no…none of that.”

Barry whines piteously and paws at Len’s hemline with the look of a puppy demanding affection, “Are you kidding me right now? I walk downstairs to hear you reading Joe the Riot Act – practically defending my honor while proudly broadcasting our relationship – and all I wanted was to let you have me against the wall…and you’re telling me _no_??”

“Yes, I’m telling you ‘no’.” Len leans down to peck Barry on the mouth. The kid, predictably, chases him for another kiss with hands dropping (again) to Len’s waistband, “And no means no, darling.”

“You’re just being cruel!”

“I,” Len taps Barry’s nose with a finger, “am upholding my fiancé’s old-world insistence on chastity until the wedding night.”

“I take it back!”

“Nope.” Len smirks, enjoying this without a drop of shame, and sidesteps the hands still pawing at him, “Now, come here, my little drama queen. I have something for you.”

“Does it involve getting you naked?”

“No.”

“Len!!”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he repeats, this time lightly dragging Barry into his arms and arranging them, back to chest, to face out the living room window, “and stop pouting. It’s a bad look.”

“I have the right to pout.” The kid is laying on thick for sure: Len can see the lip quiver even without looking Barry in the eye.

“No, you don’t.” Len drags their left hands together and, in a practiced motion, slides something cool and metallic on the ring finger, “Now are you going to keep up with the melodrama or check the size?”

A pause, and then Barry lifts his hand to examine the ring in the light: a single band of silver thinly etched with a ring of snowflakes in electric blue. “Fits like a glove.” Barry murmurs, the pout now replaced with pure affection, evidenced when he tips his face up and brushes a kiss along Len’s jaw, “Will it break when I…?”

“Lisa got Cisco to work a little magic. Don’t ask me to repeat what he did – sounded like Greek when she rattled it back to me – but the bottom line is, friction won’t break it. You should be able to run as fast as you want, and it will hold.”

“You know there’s a metaphor for us hidden in that statement, right?” Barry grins, this time nosing at Len’s neck like a kitten, and folds their arms together across his waist.

“You’re a sap, kid.” Len tucks a smirk in Barry’s shoulder, where the humble scent of cheap detergent and knock-off body wash greets him.

“Mm hm.” Barry squeezes his hand, “Where’s yours?”

The smirk widens as Len pulls the glove off his left hand with little disturbance to their current position. An equally simple band of gold, etched red with lightning detail, glimmers on his finger, and he hears the responsive grin in Barry’s voice, “You went to have a come-to-Jesus with Joe while wearing your ring.” The kid sounds like he’s trying his hardest to not purr with satisfaction, “And _I_ ’m the sap?”

“You _are_ the sap.” Len tugs him hard to the chest and takes no small pleasure in Barry’s happy little squeak, “ _I_ am mildly sentimental.”

“Mildly, my ass.” In the time it takes Len to blink, Barry whips around and flings his arms around Len’s shoulders, “You’re a giant snowball of sentiment wrapped up in bad puns and a fuzzy hood.”

“Watch your language,” Len cuffs him under the chin, “or that ass of yours is going to end up in a giant snowball between now and the wedding.”

Barry pouts again for half a second, then adjusts his arms in a loose circle around the neck, “So…hotel booked?”

“Mm hm.”

“Lisa and Mick are coming?”

“And so is Iris. And so are Caitlin and Cisco.”

“…they agreed to it?”

“You act like they were given a choice.” Len smirks, “I can’t let my sister and partner go stag to my own wedding, now can I?”


End file.
